


You Can Be My Bond Girl

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Mission Fic, Poker, Resolved Sexual Tension, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers, Slow Build, Undercover, Undercover as a Couple, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6328069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy and Coulson go undercover as professional gamblers and travel through Europe to confront a collector of alien artifacts. UST ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

At some point of the evening Phil Coulson notices the air conditioning is turned off, to impede the player’s concentration. An old trick for private casinos like this one. He tugs at his tie, feeling the inside of his collar suffocate him a bit. Time to retire, probably, and he is reasonably happy with the work done today.

That heat ruse won’t work with the beautiful woman standing right next to him at the dice. She is hard to distract and she has been winning.

She has been winning big.

And now she’s gambling all those winnings on one little throw of the dice. It’s like the whole room is gasping. Even their mark - having looked thoroughly unimpressed with the day’s proceedings - turns his attention to the little drama going on.

“For good luck,” the beautiful woman says, extending her arm towards Coulson.

His hesitation wouldn’t register to anyone in the room - not the professional gamblers, not the goons, not the gawkers, not their minions serving their mark - except her. He takes her wrist in both his hands, remembering his role and looking up, returning her glance of challenge. He blows softly over the closed fist. It’s like the whole room takes a breath.

The woman withdraws her hand and turns her attention to the table again, throwing the dice.

She wins of course. Coulson might admire how she did it, but he’s not surprised. She’s been practicing for days.

She winks at him as she gathers the won plaques in her hands.

“Thanks, handsome.”

Coulson nods a bored, very continental nod back at her. He turns around, leaving her to her devices while he makes another round through the room.

He has been hoping their host would show up, even though every piece of intel told them they’d have to jump through many hoops before they could meet. More than cautious, more than paranoid. Their mark is _exclusive_. There’s a difference.

Not being the greatest player in the room (his companion isn’t either, but she has other talents) he spends most of his time cultivating this image of bored world-weary gambler. Or ex-gambler, pulled out of retirement by the host’s mysterious challenge. A backstory to tickle the mark’s pride. It wasn’t Coulson’s idea, of course. He’s a bit out of his depth when it comes to confidence tricks. Or this kind of job.

He still thinks a more direct approach would be better - then again they’d have to find the mark first, and there are still parts of this world where satellites can’t tell them. And if they mess it up they’d lose the chance to recover the object forever. They can’t risk it.

Not that this isn’t a risk, either. And not a controlled one precisely. Coulson doesn’t like it. He fidgets with the collar of his shirt once more, feeling the sweat pool there. He would love to go home, to the base, not to the luxurious room upstairs that awaits him when the evening is over. Silk sheets doesn’t seem that tempting when he knows he’s being watched. Or when he knows he has to be careful to act like someone he is not all the time. Someone who, for example, would order gin over scotch.

“It’s the details,” he was told, sternly instructed by their expert.

By someone who has never set foot in the French Riviera or been in a high-end casino.

“Yeah, well, that’s not the point,” their expert also said.

Coulson is not sure why he keeps remembering that now, but he knows it’s dangerous to get distracted in this kind of mission.

And there seems to be a lot of potential for distraction tonight.

He scans the room for cameras - that’s his kind of job, after all, while her partner keeps the attention on the tables - and there are many of them. There’s constant scanning for outside signals so there’s no communicating with the team. Coulson guesses that will be even truer the deeper they get into this mission. This is just the prologue. He makes a quick sweep of the room, looking out for familiar faces (not that any enemy could blow the whistle on them without compromising their own position - Hydra members are not welcome here, either) and filing away information for later. For when they really have to play against these people.

Today is all leisure, getting to know each other. Like a beautiful woman asking you to blow into her hand for good luck. That sort of thing. Coulson tries not to mind to much about the details. Not tonight. They’re still finding their footing.

When he comes back to the tables the woman is still taking her rivals to task. Coulson notices some of the bodyguards being sent to inquire about the her identity. As Coulson suspected, the person responsible for this operation is watching them from somewhere in this building. He moves carefully to the roulette table, inconspicuously positioning himself between the bodyguards and the winner. Just in case.

“You’re coming after all my money,” one of the seasoned gamblers, a thirty-something with an Italian accent, tells her.

“Yes, I am.”

“And who are you?” he asks of the beautiful woman.

“The name is Johnson,” she says. “Daisy Johnson.”


	2. Cards With A Stranger

May was supposed to be her backup (the best poker player they have in the team) but after the last couple of missions she is too well-known. Coulson can slip by through the cracks, especially with his new look, and his poker face is not bad either.

He mingles, sounding like a professional gambler who has done nothing else his whole life.

“There’s an advantage to having a man as back up,” May had told her in her usual cryptic style. For someone who hates undercover she has a lot of second-hand advice to give.

Daisy understands that comment later. In the decadent mood of the small casino she has a reason to get close to Coulson, even exchange information, without people suspecting there’s foul play. With May, well, not so much. There are few women here and Daisy can see how the only two Asian women talking to each other would raise suspicions.

This is a bit like a videogame, Daisy thinks, they have to go through the stages before they can meet the big boss. She wishes someone would have activated easy mode, though.

For a starter she had to build their backgrounds from scratch. Coulson’s was harder to fake - she actually had to fabricate hard evidence of who he was, pictures, houses to his name. A history of having been a big shot in the nineties. The world of gamblers is a secretive world but in this case it intersects with the world of those interested in aliens. Someone coming out of retirement with the promise of such a prize at the end of the game wouldn’t raise any flags.

And Coulson was perfect in the role. She’s actually more impressed than usual. He hits the right spot between uninterested and interesting to the rest. He has already drawn attention - that’s the plan, Coulson had told her. They could never be the best players in the room, but they still can be the kind of people everyone wants at their table.

She guesses he’s right. But she wants to win, too. She can’t rely on charm alone, this is too important.

She can’t even explain other _why_ it’s so important. They are just following loose ends from her mother’s journals. She could sell it to Coulson on the grounds that if these artifacts are dangerous SHIELD needed to keep them, not a private collector. Inhuman tech had proven more than dangerous, it had proven deathly. But Daisy wasn’t thinking about that - she keeps thinking that someone who isn’t Inhuman has no right to own such valuable piece.

That’s not the story she’s telling the others, of course.

It’s why she has to win, and make sure it’s a clean job, that she doesn’t put anyone at risk because of it.

The dice trick comes in handy, after having to practice for hours, Mack as her poor guinea pig, telling her when he could feel she was actually using her powers. Same with the roulette, which she avoids for now, in case someone suspects. There’s being lucky and there’s being accused of cheating. Daisy knows the difference pretty well.

 

+++

 

Coulson is not a fan of drawn-out jobs, and he has never been undercover for so long.

It’s all about the relationships, he reminds himself.

In this case it’s all about convincing all these big shots that he’s a big shot too.

A has-been, but a big shot nonetheless.

He’s already attracted the attention of their invisible-for-now target (thanks to Daisy’s stunt with the dice he fears it’s mostly due to jealousy) and his bodyguards. He counts four official men, and a couple of associates infiltrated among the players. They are good at it but unlike the rest of the room they don’t look like they make their living gambling.

Daisy does, and in a way he guesses she has always looked like it. Plus she’s good at undercover, and the pointers Mack (who was used to taking point for Bobbi in this kind of missions) gave her are coming in handy.

She is trying to seem like the most desirable person in the room, and succeeding. It’s a bit unsettling - Coulson has worked with many women who have to carry out that kind of mission, exploit those kinds of weaknesses in a target. He’s upset by his own reluctance to play along in this case. He's doing Daisy a disservice by treating her differently.

He watches Daisy turn a chip in her hands (clever, quick hands, but are they enough for the mission?) and walk directly towards him.

“No luck tonight?” she asks.

“You seem to have taken it all.”

“I’m not going to apologize for that,” Daisy says, with a small laughter he’s never heard from her before. “But I can buy you a drink.”

Coulson nods, following her to the bar.

They sit at the end, alone. Coulson can feel a couple of jealous gazes coming his way, can feel them like a chill in the back of the neck. He’s not surprised Daisy had attracted so much attention tonight. Part of it is the novelty - she engineered their background in a way that she gets to play the dazzling amateur ready to take on the seasoned players for a chance to face their legendary host. She has seen way too many movies, but so has everyone else. It was humbling to see her work at that, reminded of why he had wanted her in his team in the first place, something that feels like a million years ago. She just had to drop a couple of hints online and the story took off on its own, a new player in town, an American con artist trying her luck in Old Europe. Too tempting a catch for their host not to invite her to the table. Well, Daisy invited herself to the table. That’s what she did.

“You’re sticking with the gin?” she asks, calling to the barman.

“I think I’d better.”

“I’ll have a tequila,” she says, turning around slowly to wink at the guy serving them. “You do have tequila in France, right?”

Coulson can’t help but smile at her bold and brass American girl play.

 _Well, it’s not like I can pass off as some elegant dame_ Daisy had explained when they were deciding their identities. Coulson had wanted to protest. Now, looking at the way her dress looks on her he wants to protest even more. He drinks his gin.

“Nice town,” she says, getting the perfect pitch to let anyone around know they’re strangers. “Pity we haven’t been able to enjoy the views from in here.”

“Yes, the view from my third floor room is specially nice,” Coulson replies, reminding her that May and Mack are on standby across the street, in case something happens. It’s the last time during this mission they’ll have that kind of safety measure, due to their mark’s strict (and paranoid) security concerns.

The Italian guy who lost at least three million to Daisy stumbles to their side.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.

“I’m buying _him_ a drink, sorry,” Daisy replies. “Better luck in the next stop, if you make the cut.”

“If I make the cut, yeah,” the guy mutters and goes away without any resistance.

Coulson and Daisy exchange an amused glance.

“And what do you think will be the next stop in our journey?” she asks.

“I heard some rumours about a train,” he replies. He had easily caught bits of conversation between bodyguards and that was his best bet. So to speak. Pun intended.

“A train? Very _North By Northwest_.” She turns to the barman. “And have you met our mysterious host? Or are you just as much in the dark as us?”

The barman shakes his head. “I haven’t met anyone. I’m under contract not to even talk about him.”

Coulson goes for the kill, picking on the guy’s attempt to impress Daisy. “And yet here you are talking about it.”

The man goes pale and then goes back to his job.

“Now I’m never getting my refill,” Daisy says, raising her empty glass.

It’s time to go, anyway. Tonight was just an introduction, a small affair (with millions and millions exchanging hands and Coulson tries not to wince at how preposterous the whole scene is) to wet everybody’s appetite. The first hurdle comes tomorrow night. They’d better prepare.

“I’m closing shop too. Let me walk you to your room,” he says, and loud enough for others in the room to hear.

With all his unfounded worries about working with Daisy he hadn’t thought about one obvious advantage: her being an attractive woman gave him the perfect excuse to approach her and share mission intel without looking conspicuous. Just sleazy, he guesses. And though he doesn’t like the idea of looking sleazy (even though Daisy knows him and can perfectly tell it’s a play, he’s relieved he has nothing to worry on that front) it’s for the mission, after all.

“Lucky us, we’re both on the third floor, you don’t have to go out of your way to walk me,” Daisy says, putting the glass down and getting her bag.

“Lucky us,” Coulson repeats, following.

 

+++

 

They say their goodnights, as the rest of the guests in the hotel do so as well, keeping the façade and retiring to their respective rooms. Everybody more or less retires when they do, wanting to be fresh for the big night the next day. But at three in the morning there’s a knock on Coulson’s door.

One he was expecting.

“Ready to practice?” Daisy says, coming in and immediately sitting on his bed, landing comfortably in the middle of it.

Without a word Coulson pushes a chair next to the bed and goes to fetch the deck of cards, like they do this every night.

The room is non-descript and posh like hers and she loves finding out he is not the tidiest person in the world. The place is just as messy as hers.

She is still tingling with the rush of the mission. Not exactly pleasurable, that’s not it, but she had to use all her skills (including her powers) tonight, she had to concentrate and remember the stakes. Her whole body is still buzzing with it when she settles over the bed covers, crossing her legs.

“So what are your first impressions? You think I’m right about this guy?” she asks.

“He’s certainly paranoid enough that he must be hiding something,” 

“Something like alien tech.”

“I think so,” Coulson says, shuffling the cards effectively, no showing off - Daisy remembers Miles used to do all sorts of stupid tricks with the shuffling, but he was a horrible poker player, could never bluff. “Whether or not he has the particular piece of tech you’re looking for…”

“I know, I know.”

To be honest she’ll be just happy to get the guy for anything. It used to be that she thought it was dangerous and arrogant, for private collectors to go after alien artifacts. Ever since finding she is part alien herself she finds it disturbing too.

“At least Van Chat was in it for the money, this guys is a creep.”

“Imagine if he found out you’re Inhuman.”

Daisy gives him a blank stare. “Well, thank you for that.”

She watches Coulson mouth open in silence, like he’s about to say something. He doesn’t. He deals her her cards. Daisy knows he just want them to be careful. After recent scares “careful” is very big on Coulson’s list of priorities. She disagrees. Catching the bad guys ranks higher. But then again she has a personal interest in this mission.

“I wonder when will our host show up,” she sighs. She’s not into surprises and she is not into waiting.

Coulson gives her a sharp look. “When he shows up if he invites you to the private game-”

“He will.”

“How do you know?”

She bats her eyelids. “I know.”

“Well, you’re going to need more than the dice trick to get through that.”

She knows Coulson is just being cautious but he’s just being kind of an ass, too. The problem is that working with him has become frustrating of late. Ever since him killing Ward on the alien planet precipitated the return of an Evil Deathless Entity that almost killed everybody in the team (definitely almost killed Daisy a couple of times on top of controlling her) Coulson has become obsessed with rules and protocol and doing things by the book. Which Daisy understands, but it’s like the return of Robot Coulson. She doesn’t like it. She knows she’s being too hard on him, it’s not like he has caught a break since they lost Bobbi and Hunter.

“From what I’ve seen tonight I think you’re right,” he adds, perhaps to make it up to her. “The unspoken promise is that this artifact will be in play at the end of our little game. At least it’s what some of the other players believe.”

“Nice intel gathering, agent,” she teases him.

“Thanks.”

Daisy looks at the cards Coulson has given her. Not great, but she’ll make them work for her. She only played a little on the private tables tonight - keeping herself to the dice and blackjack, where everyone could see her, she had to make an impression - but she had managed to survive mostly on one pairs.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “We just have to figure out where he keeps it.”

“And then figure out a way to communicate with the team so they can retrieve it. And us,” Coulson says, pessimistic.

“That’s the fun of it,” she tells him, still with the lingering smirk she had in the casino, like Coulson were a stranger she was trying to seduce. She realizes what she’s doing and pulls back, shifting on the bed. She wonders if he minds, her taking over his room like this.

They play a second hand and she’s more focused, less preoccupied with the mission. Coulson takes off his shoes, wiggling his toes painfully.

“And you’re not the one who had to wear high heels all night,” she says. There’s a reason why she came here barefoot. She massages the heel of her foot to make the point, letting out a tiny noise of relief. Coulson gets distracted for a moment. Daisy wins the second hand.

She can tell he’s impressed with her skills.

“Asshole colleges boys who thought they could teach me how to play,” she tells him. Coulson can’t have changed so much that he’s not willing to hear about Daisy’s exploits of youth.

“You were scamming them,” he fills in.

“I don’t want to think about it as a scam as much as me balancing the universe which had obviously given those pigs too much of an easy life,” she argues.

Coulson drops his head and smiles a bit, then goes back to being all business.

They play another hand and this time he wins.

“Why do _you_ play so well?” Daisy asks.

“I don’t think I do,” he says.

“Okay, Mr California Split,” she teases. He gives her an inquiring look. “I lived in a van. There was a lot of downtime to catch up on movies. Even weird ones.”

They keep on playing. Coulson is definitely nothing like those jerks she was trying to scam (yeah, it’s the accurate word) when she was twenty and needed quick cash. Coulson is not too busy trying to impress her, or trying to get her drunk in case the impressing her part didn’t work. He’s just focused on the game.

And on her, but in a completely different way.

“You don’t need to play well,” she realizes. “You know people. You just have to read them.”

“That’s right,” he says. “A side effect of spending decades as a profiler.”

“Let’s hope that’s enough to get us an invitation to the Magical Mystery… train.”

“It will,” he says.

“How do you know?”

He gives her a soft look - it’s nice seeing him a bit relaxed. Well, just a tiny bit. This is Phil Coulson we’re talking about anyway.

“I know,” he assures her. 

There’s a moment of silence while Coulson deals another hand.

“How’s the minibar in this place?” she asks.

Coulson gives her a look without stopping the cards. “You’d better stay focused.”

Daisy rolls her eyes.

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” she argues. “We’re going to have to drink in this game. I’d better get used to drinking and playing.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says.

“And you’re calling the shots here, Director?” she asks, challenging him to remember she is the one who wanted this mission, the one who prepared every detail.

“Yes,” he says. “It’s a pity we’re just two, you could use some practice with your Chemin de Fer.”

Perfect pronuntiation. Show off.

Just for that she is going to destroy him in the next hand.

“As for your little James Bond stunt…” Coulson shakes his head.

“Come on, it was funny,” she says. She had been wanting to do something like that her whole life. Perks of being a SHIELD agent. There aren’t many so she might as well enjoy them. “And it’s not like _Daisy Johnson_ exists on paper or that anyone other than us and a few dead Hydra agents know who she is.”

“Let’s just not get distracted so easily, okay? We only get one chance at this.”

She too wishes they could be back in the base still practicing with Mack and May. The previous two weeks had seen a lot of middle-of-the-night games among the four of them. It had been nice. Coulson hadn’t really been hanging out with anyone for a long time.

It’s still nice between the two of them, of course, Daisy doesn’t mean it like that. Better than being out there. This casino-cum-hotel gives her the creeps. This whole operation. She can’t explain it but she has a bad feeling about the whole thing. Perhaps it’s just the knowing that there’s someone out there so obsessed with Inhumans that he’d treat them like a curiosity, or a museum piece. Daisy wants and doesn’t want to confront such a person.

That’s why she’s here at two in the morning, even though she knows the practice won’t do her much good at this point. Coulson probably knows it too, and this is one of his little kind gestures. He’s not going to draw attention to the fact that Daisy feels unsafe in her room and that’s why she is here.

But suddenly it’s no longer two in the morning and the next thing she knows is that her cheek is resting on a nice - the hotel has class, she’ll give their creepy host that - pillow and Coulson is shaking her awake.

“You can’t sleep here,” he tells her calmly.

Daisy has a moment where she doesn’t quite know where she is and she looks up at Coulson with a questioning look. He pulls his hand away and Daisy gets the feeling he is thinking his prosthetic has bothered her.  
“You shouldn’t sleep here,” he repeats, softer.

Daisy rubs her face.

“No, I know.”

“Were you pretending to be asleep because you were losing?” Coulson jokes. His voice is low and coarse. They really have been at it for hours.

“I hate baccarat,” she mutters, sitting up.

“We were playing blackjack,” he points out.

“I still hate baccarat.”

Coulson stands up and turns around, giving her a moment to gather herself. Her mouth feels pasty and her hair is a mess (she used more products than usual, since she had to _look the part_ of an attractive lady, and now everything is out of place and flat) and she wishes she didn’t have to go back to her room and be alone. But she can’t tell Coulson that, right? If she did he’d probably tell her to stay and he’d order room service or something like that. But Daisy is afraid to find out that maybe he wouldn’t, that maybe he’d send her away anyway. He’s become quite the stranger these past couple of months. He’s still Coulson, but he’s become unpredictable in a weird way. She doesn’t risk it. Carefully she leaves his bed.

“It’s almost morning already,” he says. “You should leave the room before someone sees us.”

“I shouldn’t be too worried. After our performance last night if someone sees me leaving your room they’ll just assume I got lucky.”

Coulson lets out an uncomfortable snort.

“But I guess you are right,” Daisy backtracks. “We wouldn’t want other players to think I’m unavailable so soon.”

Coulson politely but impatiently guides her to the door.

“You should get plenty of rest,” he tells Daisy. “I suspect the big opening night is going to be a long one.”

Daisy nods, wondering for a moment where she’s left her shoes, why is she barefoot, before remembering she never brought them with her in the first place.

They finally say goodnight, or good morning in this case.

“We need that invitation, Daisy,” Coulson says, sounding like he doesn’t have much confidence. Maybe it’s because it’s five in the morning, but he looks so raw when he says it, like he’s pleading with Daisy to reassure him. Normally it’s the other way around. Normally whatever doubts plague him he tries to keep them hidden from the team.

“We’ll get it,” Daisy tells him. “Look at last night. We won enough to build another SHIELD on top of our SHIELD,” she teases and Coulson smiles a bit. “We’re good.”

“Yes,” he nods, right before Daisy walks through the door. “We’re good.”


	3. Bitter Champagne

Mack is not happy.

It has taken Coulson hours to make sure he wasn’t followed to their meeting point.

He had started early, making a discreet stop by Daisy’s room to make sure she was all right (he’s never been the worrying type with his agents before but after recent events he feels like he owes her that) and was thrown away by a very sleepy Daisy telling him to come back in a couple of hours. He leaves a note instead, saying they’ll see each other at the party. Then he spends a good hour pretending to take in the picturesque views of the coast.

Now he watches Mack check and re-check equipment they’ll never get to use for this mission. He’s not happy about it. Coulson isn’t either, but for the moment he’s glad to touch base, leave Mack with plans for the base for however long he and Daisy are going to be undercover. He would have liked for Daisy and May to have a moment together before the big opening too, but he didn’t want to risk both of them doing something suspicious. Daisy is in charge of winning - he is in charge of making sure they don’t get caught.

There is another reason (another reason of _security_ ) for coming to the safe house to see Mack.

“You got it?” he asks.

Mack hands him the case.

It would be bad to be caught with a prosthetic hand powered by obvious SHIELD tech so Coulson swaps it with a simpler model. Still aesthetically perfect (because rich American expats would probably care about that the most) but without combat capacity or surveillance advantages. Just a prosthetic hand. Coulson ordered this new, pared down model when they found out their host would be scanning for outside communications and bugs.

He puts it on, always surprised that the jolt of pain when it connects with the nerves never goes away, not matter how many times he’s done this. He also doesn’t like the idea of relying on a prosthetic he hasn’t tried on the field before, in case things go south and he sees action.

Mack shakes his head.

“No comms, going completely in the dark… I don’t like it.”

“I know, Mack.”

Coulson doesn’t like that part either, among the many things he doesn’t like about the mission (the strange sinking feeling that their host’s goal is far more sinister than they imagine). One thing would be risking his skin alone, that’s not a problem - but he is not the centerpiece of this mission and it’s not really his mission at the end of the day.

“Daisy is my partner,” Mack is saying, taking back the prosthetic case and putting it in his bag. “I have to make sure she’s safe out there.”

“I’ll do my best,” Coulson tells him, acting on his behalf. 

“I’ve been on this side too many times,” Mack explains. “Always taking point when Bobbi went undercover.”

“I don’t imagine Bobbi would need much help.”

Mack smiles. “You’d be surprised how many times I had to come and save her ass.”

They both chuckle fondly.

“Wish she was here to tell me what to do,” Coulson admits.

“She’ll probably tell you to keep out of Daisy’s way, that she knows what she’s doing and the worst thing you could do is interfere.”

“I’m trying to do just that.”

“We heard last night,” Mack says. “You didn’t sound too interested.”

Coulson had somehow forgotten Mack and May managed to hear some of the proceedings of the previous night thanks to their surveillance from the building across the street. He hadn’t been thinking about that when he talked to Daisy the way she did.

He can’t tell if Mack is being ironic about him not sounding too interested. Perhaps his air of indifference sounded more suspicious than straightforward flirting.

“Any other handy advice from Bobbi?” Coulson asks. He knows Mack misses his fellow agent and likes talking about the missions with her.

“As a matter of fact,” Mack replies. “She always said that when undercover it’s important to go with your gut.”

The charm of the moment is gone, dark clouds passing over Coulson.

“Last time I went with my gut a lot of people got hurt,” he says quietly, to himself, _reminding_ himself. Because he has been at risk of forgetting.

Mack’s expression sobers as well.

“You didn’t do anything any of us wouldn’t have done in that planet,” he says. Coulson is a bit surprised. Mack is not normally this direct. “I know that after what Ward did to my friends I would have done it, too.”

“But you didn’t,” Coulson replies. “None of you were there. I caused it.”

Mack shakes his head again, looking annoyed as well as worried, like he knows it’s no use to argue with Coulson when he gets like this. Coulson wonders what kind of Director he is becoming, that his subordinates have to humor him, and worse, worry about him.

They go back to missions specs.

The latest intelligence offers very little and Coulson starts thinking it was a bit of an unnecessary risk to have them try to dig up stuff last night. Their target doesn’t even have a name so far - knowing that name is a privilege only those who get to the latest stage of the game might enjoy, Coulson guesses, according to typical egotistical logic of villains - and Daisy, betraying herself as the huge dork she is, has taken to call him Drax.

“She is the one doing the cheating for now,” Mack comments, which betrays him a huge dork as well (or maybe the innocent victim of Daisy’s enthusiasm). The fact that Coulson gets the reference makes him the third dork in line, he guesses.

Coulson gives orders that he and May are to leave the town immediately. They won’t be able to back Coulson and Daisy up closely anyway and if something goes wrong tonight it would be damning evidence to have SHIELD agents posted in town. They are to go back to the Quinjet and wait on the outskirts. If he and Daisy need and extraction they’d find a way to let them know. It’s less risky this way. Coulson keeps telling himself that, that he is being cautious cutting the cord.

“I just… I need everything to go well this time,” he mutters.

“If it’s about getting in, I’ve seen the dress Daisy is wearing. It’s going to be fine,” Mack says.

Almost immediately after the comment he makes a grimace.

“What is it?” Coulson asks.

“It reminds me of some of the missions I had to help Bobbi with. It’s…”

“Distasteful?”

“That’s the word.”

Coulson silently agrees, feeling the pang of something not unlike the pain on his left arm whenever he puts on his prosthetic.

 

+++

 

Mack wasn’t wrong about the dress.

Coulson is not exactly late to the party but by the time he is ready (he took his time in front of the mirror) Daisy has already left for the downstairs casino. Good call, Coulson thinks, not leaving together. They spent too much time together last night, anyway, someone is bound to notice and wonder.

As soon as he hits the floor he realizes the mood is notably different from the previous evening.

People are more elegantly dressed for a starter (he made the right call spending that time in front of the mirror). There are new faces. More resolved faces.

The drinks are different. Suddenly champagne wins out to anything else, the waiters in white tuxedos each of which probably costs more than what Coulson used to earn in a year when SHIELD still had a good budget. Last night was a rehearsal, this is the genuine article: a true decadent European gambling evening. Tony Stark would be here except this place is too elegant for the likes of Tony Stark, Coulson ponders.

He orders a champagne cocktail. It will keep the alcohol ratio down for the time being and also he’ll be the guy with a pink drink in his hand, which is always a good thing.

There are more people tonight, that’s another thing. It takes him a bit to locate Daisy, who seems to be in the middle of buzz in the blackjack table. She’s wearing a long backless black dress and a gold necklace Coulson hopes no one is looking too closely or they’ll figure out it’s not really expensive. He doubts people will be looking at the necklace, though. Daisy looks different - not that she wasn’t beautiful before. Coulson always thought so, but the kind of beauty he has come to associate her with (the kind of beauty that takes you by surprise at six in the morning when she’s the first one down in the kitchen, already in her workout clothes, distractedly spooning breakfast into her mouth while she works at her laptop; the kind of beauty that is all about flushed cheeks and fire in her eyes when she gets passionate about something and starts ranting; the kind of beauty Coulson has tried very hard not to think about for three years, because it’s always there, based on things that are truer and more permanent than an elegant dress or fake jewellery). Daisy playing a role, a beautiful but fake role, somehow makes her seem more approachable in that sense to Coulson. Which is dangerous. She could be anyone, indeed a professional gambler or a con artist trying her luck here, and Coulson could chat her up. But she’s not. She’s Daisy. Despite the dress and the boldness and the smirk.

And Daisy _as Daisy_ gives him the tiniest knowing look when she notices Coulson’s arrival. She looks good like that, making everyone around her look in black and white by comparison (but hasn’t she always been able to pull that trick?). She seems to have things under control for the moment so Coulson turns around and leaves her be.

He goes back to work. Mingling, not playing much, keeping an eye on Daisy in a way that no one would suspect it’s something other than sexual interest (he remembers Mack’s word, distasteful, he just didn’t imagine he’d end up being the one being its embodiment). He loses a bit of money, but gets it back in the next round.

He has memorized the faces of all the famous gamblers. Whoever was not in the list must be a free agent, someone like him and Daisy, drawn by other interests other than a love for the game. Just because Hydra imploded thanks to their latest messiah it doesn’t mean some Hydra royalty won’t be interested in getting their hands on an Inhuman artifact - though their plans for the current owner are probably more violent than his and Daisy’s. Coulson can’t say he cares to protect their host from them too much (the guy is not precisely known for his pacifism either) but they can’t let ex-Hydra agents get their hands on the tech.

Daisy is not the only woman in the room, but they’re just a handful, and she is the youngest one. There are three or four nervous career gamblers Coulson predict won’t last the night. A couple of other players catch his eyes, specially an attractive Argentinian woman who seems to know her way around. It seems like Coulson has caught her eyes as well, but he can’t figure out exactly why, if it’s personal or professional. 

Tonight he can’t pinpoint the bodyguards infiltrated through the crowd (last night’s duo seems absent), which means their host has employed his A team. That or maybe last night was supposed to confused expectations. Coulson finds himself double-checking everything, second-guessing himself too. Details. Those might save lives. A detail as uncomplicated as a murder brought disaster. He’s not about to make that mistake twice.

Finally it’s Daisy the one who approaches him. Forward, but that’s very much in tune with the fiction they are fabricating. He is elegantly unimpressed, focused on the goal, she pursues him without shame. Maybe Mack wasn’t being ironic after all.

“Already forgetting your old friends?” she asks, coming up to him as they both take a look at the tables. Daisy gets herself a thin glass of champagne.

“It looked like you had enough admirers, Miss Johnson,” he tells her. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“I don’t think I ever asked your name last night,” she says, chuckling and quite loud. “How self-centered can one be.”

“It’s Wallis,” he says, feeling extremely ridiculous because Daisy knows it’s not. “Sidney Wallis.”

“Okay,” she says, amused. At Sidney or at Phil, Coulson can’t be sure.

Without agreeing upon it they lead each other to a corner, under the staircase. They are still under surveillance there, they can’t really say anything that might expose them, but at least they have some privacy.

“How are the tables tonight? Hot?”

“Too much,” Daisy whines. “With these many _players_ I’m a bit out of my element.”

Coulson is tempted to squeeze her arm like he would do if they were in the middle of a mission and she was doubting herself. But it would seem prematurely intimate for two strangers - he wouldn’t want it to be flirty, he’d want to encourage her.

“I’m sure you’d find a way to make a killing,” he tells her instead.

She smiles at him as Daisy, not _Daisy_ , and Coulson feels glad that she got his meaning.

“The dress helps,” he teases her now, glancing at it - he thinks only amateurs could overlook the fact that Daisy’s body is a soldier’s body. Beautiful but powerful and shaped for very specific tasks.

She rolls her eyes a bit, like she is a bit embarrassed by her unusual clothes, and resenting Coulson fro bringing it up. She drinks nervously after that.

Coulson thinks he can feel it in a chill on the back of his neck before the room is suddenly filled with the noise of doors opening and heavy fit hitting the floor. A team of half a dozen bodyguards ( _more_ than professional, ex-Army all of them, by the looks of it, and Coulson had a moment of panic thinking that maybe they are to face some SHIELD agent turned merc in here, before remembering not many people knew his face before the fall of SHIELD, and none knew Daisy’s) basically explodes into the casino, pushing players and waiters alike as they make for the front entrance of the building and out to the street.

Coulson grabs Daisy by the elbow, both negotiating how to position their bodies to shield the other from potential danger. They look at each other, both annoyed with the other, thinking they should be the one doing the protecting - Daisy is not being very strategic here, he wants to say, she is the essential agent in this operation. The kind of wrestling between the two of them makes her tilt her glass and the drink spills on her hand a bit.

“Sorry,” she says, looking at his tux. “Did I get you?”

Coulson shakes his head, watching as a couple more of bodyguards step outside the casino, coming up with theories about what might have happened. He hadn’t imagined there’d be trouble and he and Daisy wouldn’t be at the center of it. She licks the drops of champagne from her wrist in such a thoughtless and uncouth manner that Coulson hopes no one has seen, or it will surely ruin the image of female James Bond she is trying to cultivate her.

The rest of the guests, predictably, are too busy trying to find out what has happened, why the commotion, and are pausing their games to look at the door through which the small army of bodyguards has just left.

The Italian player comes into view, interested in the scene as well. The three of them end up under the staircase.

“What’s with all the movement?” Daisy asks their acquaintance.

“A raid on the next building,” he replies.

Daisy and Coulson exchange a look: good thing he told Mack and May to fall back to the outskirts.

“Somebody probably trying to murder our host,” the drunk Italian goes on, so cheerfully. “It happens from time to time, I hear.”

Coulson can’t tell if it’s a joke of he really believes that.

He waltzes away without further comment.

“But our host is not here,” Daisy points out, in a soft whisper, getting close to Coulson again.

He thinks. “Only people inside the casino know that,” he says.

“An outside hit.”

“Or someone who couldn’t get in,” Coulson adds.

 

+++

 

The way things calm down, immediately, says a lot about the caliber of the players here. One-track minds. The prize is far too tempting to care about the world around them, even assassination attempts on their host - if the Italian guy is right. Gramini, his name. Daisy got is and passed it on to Coulson in a whisper, grabbing his arm. 

Daisy wins with the dice again and doesn’t do too badly at blackjack. Coulson manages, though his winnings are not that spectacular, but then again neither are his losses. They have another drink together, or at least next to each other, in the bar.

He wonders if that’s all the excitement they are going to get when two bodyguards come to _fetch_ Daisy.

“You’ve been invited to the private lounge, Miss Johnson,” they explain.

“Uh, okay,” she says, sitting up to follow them, a bit wrong-footed because Coulson is not coming with her, because she alone was invited.

Coulson is more than merely wrong-footed. His whole body tenses as he tries to feign disinterest when she leaves his side.

Daisy throws a little glance back at him. Coulson watches her go - suddenly gripped by a flashback of that monster he brought to earth making her do his will, and then when she marched to face that thing on her own despite that, when Coulson had watched Daisy go thinking he would never see her again - but Daisy gives him a little reassuring nod, letting him know it’s okay. He composes himself in a moment, hoping no one has caught his expression. Or counting on people thinking his horror was due to the fact that he wasn’t invited to the private game and not something else. It’s ridiculous that Daisy has to be the one appeasing him - he’s supposed to be her backup.

Taking notice of where they lead her Coulson decides to take a slow turn around the room, to calm his nerves.

He sees other players being led to the backroom, among them the Argentinian woman who seemed so interested in him. At least someone is. He feels a bit dejected that he wasn’t chosen. He thinks he has put up a good performance. He’s been charming and his game strategy has been smart and skillful. 

Thinking about all the dangers and challenges Daisy might be facing without him will only cloud his judgement more so he decides to bet half of his winnings at the blackjack table. That will take up all his focus, that’s for sure.

“Sir?” a bodyguard approaches him as soon as he’s put his money on the line.

He gestures to the mysterious door that leads to the mysterious room (to Daisy).

Coulson hesitates. “My money?”

He voids the bet and lets Coulson get his money back. Maybe he thinks he might need it wherever they are going.

Everyone gets frisked and scanned at the beginning of the evening but apparently crossing this door requires a second go at it.

Then he is lead through a thick metal door and to a world of darkness and smoke, and at least forty years out of place.

A small, lively private room. About twenty players picking their tables, a game of cards at the back of the room, Daisy (he catches a glimpse of her with the corner of his eyes but pretends not to) at the roulette with three other people. The mood is relaxed but sharp. No one knows what the criteria of their host is, so they all try to give their best performances.

“Hey, it’s handsome again,” Daisy greets him when he approaches the table. He is the last one to do so, the last one invited privately. “Seems like my luck is still going strong.”

He gives her a discreet smile, suddenly overwhelmed by relief to be together again, facing this.

“You weren’t invited to the poker table either, uh?”

She shrugs. “Too small to play with the big guys.”

She throws a glance towards it. Apparently their Italian friend had been invited. Coulson had been watching his movements and he hadn’t struck him as a good player, particularly. Must be his personality. Their host is capricious after all.

“How’s the roulette treating you?” he asks.

“Not bad,” Daisy replies. “Seems like I have the touch.”

“Oh I don’t doubt that.”

He orders some of the champagne, no doubt of much finer quality in here than out there. All this public flirting is meant to attract attention. It’s relaxing too. Coulson enjoys flirting, even if he hasn’t had much chance to practice in… well, in years. He wouldn’t be able to flirt with Daisy like this if it wasn’t for a mission. Which is a pity, she’s quite a fun flirt.

He realizes he likes it because he hasn’t seen Daisy relaxed and enjoying herself all year, and though he knows it’s fake, a mask, it’s still somewhat touching to see her smile and tease.

He’s been so focused on Daisy since he walked in that he forgot to take stock of everything else going on. He takes the chance as a flawlessly dressed waiter bring him his drink. The security cameras multiply here and they are more conspicuous. On purpose, Coulson guesses, to intimidate the players.

The beautiful Argentinian woman walks up to him and talks to him in a conspiratorial.

“Have you heard about the train?”

“I’ve heard something.”

“Apparently if you are _chosen_ there’ll be a ticket waiting for you in your room.”

“How do you know that?” more interested in who the woman is that in this detail.

“It’s not the first time he does the whole train routine. People talk.”

“We had to sign a confidentiality agreement before the game,” he reminds her. He guesses the arrangement was put in place on previous occasions as well.

The woman shrugs. “People talk.”

There’s an explosion of sound coming from the roulette table, awed laughter, and Coulson instinctively turns toward it. Daisy wins again.

“You move pretty quickly,” the woman tells him, gesturing towards Daisy. “In this kind of events people normally wait a couple of days to pair up. Seems like I missed my window.”

Coulson keeps staring at Daisy for a moment longer. He is certainly flattered that people might think someone like Daisy could ever...

“I’m just being polite,” he says, not sure if the assumption could hurt Daisy’s chances with their host (his stomach drops at the idea but it’s the professional thing to consider and he is a professional, the last time he forgot that people died).

“Not like you’re being polite with me.”

Coulson suddenly realizes the woman has an angle. She’s not hitting on him because he’s so damn pretty. He becomes interested. She doesn’t strike him as Hydra-connected, but he doesn’t rule out the possibility she’s got training.

“Don’t get jealous, Miss…” he offers his hand.

“Lanza, Lorena Lanza,” she replies.

That’s a fake name if he ever heard one.

“I’m Mr Wallis,” he tells her.

By the woman’s expression Miss Lanza is under the impression that’s not a real name either. Definitely a professional, Coulson marks her down as a possible threat.

“You’d better get back to your friend,” she tells him, gesturing towards the roulette.

The table is hot when he gets there. Daisy is winning, a pile of plaques worth thousands of franc each collected before her. Coulson can tell it’s taking some effort. The tiny droplets of sweat forming along her hairline would look like a sign of nervousness to other, and who can blame her, she’s betting millions here. But he knows using her powers with both such precision and such discretion is taking a toll on her. 

He watches her repeat the trick and though no one else in the table knows it he feels in the presence of something magical every time she uses her Inhuman powers like this. She smirks when she wins and Coulson knows it’s not because of the money won, or even because of the mission, it’s a deep particular pride, and the idea that what she does can be an instrument of good, useful to SHIELD, useful in a mission intimately connected with her own kind like this one.

Coulson wants to tell her how amazing she is, what a gift her powers are; all year she’s only heard they are a curse and ought to be used as a weapon. He wants to tell her how much he admires what she does but this is not the place. He hopes the look he gives her when she collects the plaques conveys a fraction of that.

She smiles at him and maybe he gets through again. It’s a Daisy smile, not a _Daisy_ smirk. He likes both but only one of those has the capacity to really get to him even when he tries to avoid it.

She keeps a low profile after that, letting people get some of their money back, losing prudently. She arranges for Coulson to win a couple of times. It would be no good if she gets the invitation but he doesn’t. He thinks he’ll be alright. The bodyguards have been keeping an eye on him, so obviously he has aroused the curiosity of their mark, wherever she is. He and Daisy make a good team - he has the personal charm and Daisy the impossible streak of luck.

After half an hour or so of the roulette cooling down and their flirting was getting too serious one of the waiters informs Coulson that he is wanted at the baccarat table. Just him. Daisy raises one eyebrow at him.

“Wish me luck?” he says. “You kind of owe me.”

Daisy in her bold and playful persona accepts the challenge of Coulson’s debonair and sensual alter ego. It’s all make believe but it’s Coulson’s hand Daisy takes by the wrist, pushing his fingers into a fist and blowing air into it. She doesn’t hesitate, not like he did last night. She keeps her glance on him the whole time.

“Now we’re even,” she says.

In the table they are playing _punto blanco_ , a game of pure luck so Coulson relaxes, since there’s not much his skills (or lack of thereof) can do in this case. He will have to cultivate his image of careless gambler.

His “friend” Miss Lanza is at the table. And so is their Italian friend, clearly inebriated. He points at the camera above the door. “Maybe he wants to check who’s really lucky.”

The other people at the table are two European looking pros, a really handsome Korean man, and a thuggish looking Amerian with a thick neck who is Coulson’s best bet for a Hydra connection. Or if not Hydra at least an organization interested in weaponizing whatever the host is hiding in his home.

The idea makes a shiver run down his spine. 

Daisy wants to find this thing because she thinks it might connect her to the history of her people, and because her mother had been looking for it.

Is there someone in this room, maybe their host himself, who wants the exact opposite?

The idea makes him eager to win, win, win.

He can’t afford to lose anymore.

 

+++

 

Her shoes are still hurting her. Or maybe she still hurts from last night. He noticed when she appeared in his room barefoot and kept massaging her feet while she was sitting on his bed.

Now they make their way upstairs (everybody is packing the elevators and they have decided to take the stairs) and Daisy has her black and gold shoes in her hand.

“So who was the woman?” Daisy asks.

“What woman?”

She laughs. “So that’s how it is?”

Coulson smirks and looks innocent.

“Sorry, I don’t know how to play the jealousy card,” she adds. “Bond didn’t get jealous.”

“Because he knew no one could really compete with him,” Coulson argues. He doesn’t tell Daisy this but he really hates James Bond and everything he stands for.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Daisy points out.

Coulson stops in his tracks.

“What is it?” she asks.

He points at the door to her room. There’s a white envelope stuck to it.

Uh.

He needs to remember to ask Miss Lanza exactly where she gets her intel.

“A train ticket,” Daisy says, reading it. She is a bit cautious about it, like she was half hoping she didn’t make the cut.

Then she gestures towards Coulson’s door, a couple of rooms ahead. The same white paper embellishes it. Coulson takes the envelope down and opens it. It’s a train ticket as well.

He turns around, showing it to Daisy.

“I guess we’ll see each other on the train, handsome,” she says, waving her hand and disappearing into her room.

Coulson watches her go for no other reason that it seems to be a habit by now.

“I guess so,” he says to the empty corridor.


	4. Itching Fingers

She’s already settled and enjoying her brunch in the dining car by the time Coulson gets here. Hey, just because the dude who’s paying for all this luxury might be evil it doesn’t mean Daisy is going to turn down free food. That goes against her principles.

And the cappuccino. Daisy has been on many trains. But none that served cappuccinos.

The train is private, which _wow_ , she can’t imagine people having that much money. It has all the fixings. The table Daisy is sitting at has not just tablecloth (tablecloths! she doesn’t even go to restaurants where they have that) but a little vintage brass lamp on the side, preparing for the evening.

None of the other players in the car seems to be as impressed by all this as Daisy. Makes sense, thinking on all the money passing hands - she doesn’t think she’ll get to keep what she’s won by the end of the mission, their mark’s finances are probably dodgy and they’ll have to turn the winnings over to the proper authorities. Pity, the Playground could use the pick me up. When Daisy left her things in her sleeper car she noticed the tiny bathroom had aloe vera soap. They definitely don’t have that back home.

When Coulson appears she feels a bit bad for not having waited for him to eat, but she was really hungry and since they couldn’t really make a plan for this she didn’t know if they were supposed to wait for each other, or if that would even arise suspicions in the other players.

When he appears he is wearing some kind of sports jacket and some sort of really decadent neckerchief. The beard makes him look less douchey than it should. Good ensemble, she thinks. It shouldn’t work, he shouldn’t look this good but…

The car is pretty packed so it doesn’t look _too_ obvious when he walks straight to her table and sits opposite her.

“Do these people drink anything other than champagne?” she asks.

Colson leans back on the chair, calling for the waiter.

“I don’t object to this,” he says.

He orders a continental breakfast because of course he does. Continental Coulson.

She smirks. “You wouldn’t. You look in your element.” She gestures towards the sunglasses. “What’s up? You didn’t sleep well?”

He takes them off. He gives her a sharp, unusual smile.

“That’s a very forward question, Miss Johnson,” he says. “We don’t know each other very well.”

Oh, right.

“So _Mister Wallis_. Where do you think this magic mystery train in leading us, Sidney?”

“My bet? Greece, passing through Italy, maybe.”

She freezes. Without meaning to.

“Oh. I didn’t think - I don’t like trains going to Italy.”

Coulson gives her a sympathetic, soft-mouthed smile.

“What a coincidence. I’m not a fan myself.”

She returns the smile, grateful for the words.

More relaxed now - she didn’t like having breakfast alone among all these strangers who probably hate her for winning last night - she devours her plate, taking a quick sip of the coffee and then a gulp of champagne. Coulson raises an eyebrow. She guesses that was pretty disgusting.

“Curious combination,” he comments, taking a small bite out of his croissant. Must be part of the role; she’s seen Coulson it, he’s not demure, precisely.

“I’m patenting it,” she says, finishing the drink. “The Champaccino.”

“You’re a genius,” Coulson says, flatly.

She laughs.

Her laughter doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the passengers in the car. Well, she thinks, that’s bound to fuel even more rumors about her and Coulson. She hopes they’re the right ones.

She looks outside the window to the beautiful and sunny countryside. It’s so different. She doesn’t think they have this kind of green back home. Dark-ish but glistening under the sun at the same time. Of course the first time she took a scenic route through the south of Europe there was not much time to take in the views - and afterwards she didn’t really felt like reminiscing.

She looks down at the instructions she found in her compartment.

“So this is how we’ll spend the day, uh?” she says. “Filling these cards.”

“One game against each player.” Daisy still feels like she’s in a videogame. “You can group it however you want, play with three other players or four or whatever, and any kind of game, as long as you face every player here at least once. And they have to sign the card.”

It’s a purely numbers game today. The twenty players with the most money at the end of the trip will receive an invitation to their host’s flagship casino. The rules don’t specify how you’re allowed to get the money, so Daisy’s hands twitch because she can have a good Plan B.

“I’ve already gotten an invitation to play deuces right after this,” Coulson comments.

“Let me guess? Is she tall and brunette and Latina?”

Coulson butters the rest of his croissant while stalling for the reply.

“Is that a problem, Miss Johnson?” he asks, disarming.

“Of course not. Have fun, Mr Wallis,” she tells him. “I guess I’ll have to find some partners myself.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

 

+

 

 _”You can’t imagine how many ways of cheating at cards I’ve learned this past week,”_ she had told Coulson when they were going over the plan again, three days before leaving for France.

Coulson had made a distracted noise, still worried about the goal of the mission, she guessed.

 _”You think we shouldn’t go?”_ she asked.

_”No, I think as long as we don’t know if this object is dangerous we need to find it.”_

Daisy had on her tablet the translation of her mother’s diaries page to page with the books she had been reading about card games - Coulson had indulged her, most likely, listening to it all. That’s how Daisy processes things, talking and talking about them. It’s just that she has always had to talk _to herself_ until now.

 _”I should learn Chinese,”_ she had said that night in Coulson’s office, and he had given her a sympathetic smile. For obvious reasons Daisy doesn’t like talking about her mother to Coulson, so she glossed over the personal details in the diary entries and went directly to the useful details. Of which there weren’t many.

She had more luck learning to play a mean hand.

She learned all kinds of stuff about how to wax the aces so that the deck will break on them, using a razor on high cards. Or what about those rings with a mirror inside, a lot of players use them, she had discovered during her research.

Of course she didn’t need any of that. She had powers. For this she had gotten pretty accurate with them. She developed this thing called vibration marks. It was exhausting to do but very handy. She hadn’t talked much about it but her powers had developed quickly lately. Specially when it came to skills she could use on the field: she could tell when someone hurt during a mission had any broken bones.

 _”Should we assume Jiaying resumed her search of the object after the war?”_ Coulson had asked.

_”I don’t know, she never mentions it again in any of her papers.”_

She felt odd at the idea of Coulson going through her mother’s diaries for clues on the mission. Reading about her, even him saying her name made Daisy feel bad, after what Jiaying did to him…

The diaries would have been lost forever, if the papers brought from Afterlife hadn’t mentioned Hydra stealing all of Jiaying’s possessions when they apprehended her in the 1940s along with the rest of her village. SHIELD rarely leaves you a moment of peace to investigate these things but in the end she was given her late mother’s possessions, once they sorted them out from the rest of the stuff they found in Whitehall’s secret stashes not just in the States, in Europe too.

Jiaying had been trying to track down this relic now Daisy was after in the 1930s, travelling all over Asia. A lot of what she wrote is unbreakable code, a lot would be unintelligible unless you knew who her people was, what “gift” meant. She’s a strange one on paper, Daisy thought. Even the more intimate entries. She was smart and kind, but aloof. Separate in a way. Daisy couldn’t imagine how someone like her could fall for and give everything up for someone like Cal.

Finding this mysterious relic had been a passion for her, Daisy felt she had to finish it for her. Like she owed it to Jiaying, and to the rest of her people.

She didn’t tell this to Coulson (or anybody), she just played the angle that it might be dangerous - she didn’t know. She hoped it wasn’t. She hoped it was something else. That’s what her mother had hoped, regretting the real meaning of the relic had been lost through the centuries.

 

+

 

She has read a lot about cheating at cards, practiced for weeks.

And now she’s here, in a luxury _private_ train crossing Europe, facing off some of the greatest gamblers of the era. She can tell Coulson is slightly tired of her Bond jokes but _come on_.

Everyone here wears clothes that are more elegant than the most elegant suit she has ever seen Coulson wear (she remembers the day he was going to meet the President for the first time, and how it was obvious he had quietly resurrected his best suit). The few women wear smooth, beautiful frocks, even in a train. Daisy went for “rich hippie” and is wearing a loose white shirt and designer jeans, trying not to look too self-conscious about it - trying to remember she can play the wild card here (pun always intended), the talented amateur.

The players all seem to be good at masking their desperation for winning. And curiously they are very vigilant of their chips while playing but not so much when they’re not. Maybe they think this place is full of _gentleman_ and no one is going to try to win by other methods. Just that idea alone pushes Daisy to test old muscles and make sure everyone wakes up tomorrow a little bit poorer. It’s part of her strategy. This whole ridiculous set up, the silly rules… she gets the feeling their mark will appreciate her taking advantage of a loophole. The instructions were so carefully crafted that Daisy can’t really believe she left that detail out on purpose. It’s like the host was challenging the players to steal from each other.

She is not the only American in the lot. There’s a really intense Texan who makes a couple of poker hands very difficult for her, until she tunes in with the cards - until she marks them. It’s the same game where she tries to make the Argentinian lady who keeps looking at Coulson like he’s some luxurious dessert part with all her money. It’s not jealousy, she swears, it’s the she gets the feeling the woman is hiding something, that she’s not who she says she is. Which might sound right coming from Daisy but she’s doing this in the name of Good, so. Unfortunately the woman is too strong a player to beat.

There are croupiers on offer for the players who want or need them but Daisy, more concerned with getting some intel on their host than with the game, looks for more private meetings, where the players can speak more freely.

Apart from winning (you’re welcome) and stealing (just in case - and to do away with some dodgy competition) Daisy does a lot of lurking through the day. Standing next to doors right before or right after the games finish, fishing to hear what the players talk about when she’s not there.

Only at one point, as the evening is drawing and the fields outside start becoming dark (she does not like trains anymore, and being on a train at night suddenly makes her nervous), she hears something interesting among the inane chatter of the the players (how long can a human being talk about champagne without losing their mind?). She was invited to this next game by their friend, the Italian player, but she stops right outside the door of the car when she hears some hushed voices inside. She thinks she hears the Italian’s voice, and a woman is with him. They seem to be talking about the prize of the competition. Daisy can read their vibrations, secretive and excited.

“Quite the payoff, this game,” he says.

“A _player_ ’s reward. Our host is a firm believer in tradition.”

“So you think he’s telling the truth, that he has it?” the man says, his tone definitely conspiratorial.

The woman shifts, suspicious.

“Ssh.”

Daisy opens the door, sensing the woman could tell there was someone outside, not wanting to give away that she had been listening for a while, and indeed there’s that Italian guy, and gray-haired woman Daisy saw glued to the roulette table last night.

 _Tradition_? What were they talking about? It sounded promising, in any case. She can’t wait to tell Coulson. Maybe he can help her figure out what they mean.

 

+

 

Once she gets all the cards filled except one she takes another walk around the train. Distractedly, not hoping to find out more than she already has.

She made the rounds when they first came on board the train, but she does the SHILED agent thing again, checking the exits and possible points of ambush. It soothes her, the way her training has taught her to expect the worst but as something she can manage, not as something to fear. Her skills give her a peace she hadn’t known before in her life. She walks around the sleeper cars relaxed, knowing she could take on anyone and anything.

Then she hears noises - like a struggle - coming from one of the rooms.

Coulson’s room, to be exact.

She doesn’t wait to knock - it sounds like a struggle, definitely - and opens the door quickly.

“Coulson!” she says, both softly and loud.

Coulson is locked in fight with one of the other players - the one they both joked had a thick neck and looked like a Hydra goon. Well, maybe they weren’t that far off. He has Coulson pinned against the wall while Coulson tries to keep the knife the dude is holding very far away from him.

How did the guy get the knife past security?

She is also about to wonder why Coulson is having such difficulty pushing him away until she remembers his current prosthetic arm is not for battle purposes.

Coulson looks up when he notices the door opening.

He’s bleeding from over his left eyes,the blood clouding his vision too much for a fight.

Daisy doesn’t think. She lifts her hand and vibrates the goon the hell away from Coulson, throwing him against the opposite wall. She’s not sure how hard she’s done it - not deathly force,obviously - but she’s happy when it turns out it’s enough to knock him out on the spot.

“What the-?” she starts.

“I think he knew we weren’t what we said,” Coulson says, looking at the unconscious man on the floor.

“He wasn’t what he said!” she argues. She played poker with him right after lunch. She thought he was shifty, but everyone looks shifty on this trip.

“That’s how I think he knew.”

“Hydra?” she asks.

“Could be,” he says. “Or other private interests.”

She takes a moment to study him. Other than the cut on the forehead and the way he’s rubbing his side uncomfortable it seems like he is all right. It’s not like she didn’t expect to see action on this mission - she was fully prepared for that. But Coulson being in danger, even if it’s a slight scrape like this, that’s not something she’s ever going to be _fully_ prepared for. She acted quickly and she knows Coulson, he would have handled it on his own, it’s not about thinking he’s helpless. She’s relieved when she sees him be okay.

“What do we do with him?” Coulson asks, still thrown to the end of the bed, catching his breath.

Daisy bites the inside of her mouth.

“Okay, don’t judge me, but this is not the first time I’ve had to hide an unconscious man in a train,” she says.

 

+

 

Coulson is not that comfortable with the arrangement, but neither of them wanted to gag the guy in case he’d asphyxiate. He looks like he might just be out for the rest of the journey and even if he managed to attract enough attention to the luggage car… what could he tell the bodyguards? That he got knocked out while trying to murder another passenger? No, he’ll play along if he wants to stay in the run.

Daisy leads them back to her bunk in the sleeper car.

“We have to clean that cut,” she says, her hands on Coulson’s shoulders as she pushes him down to sit on one of the two beds.

“It’s fine,” she hears him protest as she gets into the tiny bathroom to wet a bit of toilet paper. She doesn’t have a first aid kit with her, in case they go through her things and wonder why she expected to need first aid on this trip.

The train going at speed makes the whole carriage rattle and though you’d think Daisy is used to things shaking she has to balance herself on Coulson’s shoulder to tend to his wound. The light on the ceiling not being the greatest for emergency medical procedures she has to get very close to clean the cut.

She likes his left eyebrow, she thinks, the one with the tiny scar through it. It makes Coulson look vulnerable in a good way. Perhaps he wouldn’t like the idea, specially not now. But it gives his otherwise uneventful face - he’s handsome, but he doesn’t stand out in a crowd, he’s too American, modestly well-bred, she wouldn’t look at him twice if it wasn’t for things like his eyes, his smile - certain character.

The whole carriage rattles on the tracks, giving them a slight shake. Coulson is about to fall to his side but he uses his left hand to hold on to Daisy’s shoulder. When the commotion is over he looks at it, his hand wrapping her arm, and takes it away immediately, as if burnt.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

Daisy feels something in her chest ache with disappointment, and something else. Guilt.

“I know why you don’t want to touch me with your prosthetic,” she says, focusing on the wound instead of on Coulson’s gaze. “I remind you… it reminds you my mother did this to you.”

He tenses up. She can feel it because the shaking of the train keeps them so close, her legs around hers as she bends down to press the damp paper to his skin.

“No,” he says. “It’s not that.”

He lifts his left hand and wraps it around Daisy’s wrist. Her breathing hitches for a moment. His grip is tight. He hasn’t held her like this before.

“It’s not?” she asks, slowly. How could it not?

Coulson lets go, too soon she thinks, but brushing her thumb down her arm as he withdraws. He shakes his head.

“I try not to touch you with that hand because…” he says, looking into her eyes, back to being just Coulson, no trace of the continental playboy role he’s been playing for three days. “I’m afraid it would remind you of what your mother did. And I know you’d blame yourself for it. I don’t want that.”

Daisy sits on the bed opposite, so narrow the space between them that her knee touches Coulson’s. She smiles.

“We should have had this conversation many months ago,” she says.

“Perhaps.”

She lets him catch his breath, relieved by his words. She has feared she reminds him too much of what her mother had done. A thought in the back of her head and the bottom of her stomach, always. Wondering if that’s the reason why they don’t touch that much anymore.

“Hey, we still haven’t had our one on one game,” she says, showing him the card where she’s already punched the names of every other player.

“I guess you’re right.”

“I’m pretty sure I won more money today than you. I will let you beat me - I can’t very well go into the big casino without my right hand.”

“Do you know any game for two players?”

“Yeah, but they all involve taking off our clothes,” she says. Coulson doesn’t laugh. “Relax, I’m teasing.”

“I know.”

She shrugs, hugging herself a moment.

“I just, with what just happened, I think you should stay here the rest of the night,” she says. “People would just assume we’re playing.”

Or people would just _assume_.

She’s seen the way other players look at her and heard the kind of jokes they make, in hushed elegant voices, about her and Coulson, not even waiting for her to exit a room. She doesn’t mind, it gives her a reason to keep close to him, and it’s a bit flattering, after all.

But there’s another reason why she wants him here tonight,

And he looks hesitating about it, still bruised, but giving a sideways glance to the door.

“Coulson?” she asks and he turns, giving her his full attention. “Stay please.”

She doesn’t want to have to explain it.

It’s probably very stupid and embarrassing, after all the danger and impending doom she’s faced since then, that’s why she doesn’t want to have to explain it.

Coulson doesn’t ask.

He nods.

He fishes his game card out of his wrinkled jacket and hands it to her.

“Then you’d better sign this,” he says.

“I should probably freshen up a bit,” he adds. “Did you get the aloe vera soap too?”

Daisy smiles, waving him towards the bathroom door.

“All yours,” she says.


End file.
